A Warning Not to Intervene

Cynthia turned around and immediately collided with the deep, dark eyes of the man, whose expression carried a satisfied smile.

The man was bare-chested, one hand resting on the side of his head, with a silk thin blanket slowly slipping down, gathering around his waist. The outline of his well-defined abs was faintly visible. Compared to his usual cold and indifferent demeanor, he now appeared more languid and casual.

He resembled a lazy lion: even though he seemed indifferent, his powerful aura still made others unwilling to offend him lightly.

His hand gently caressed the soft flesh at Cynthia's waist. "Good morning."

Good morning?

She didn't feel good at all!

She forced a smile, her voice hoarse and low, "Good..."

Her voice still sounded hoarse, and Cynthia's face immediately fell.

No, starting tonight, she had to set some ground rules for Tristan. She couldn't let him...